


The Plod and the Spook

by Not So (Silberias)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Also Sherlock hates Sally because he thinks she's after his brother's influence or money, Also explains why Mycroft was at the crime scene with the taxi driver, Car Sex, F/M, So Sally calls Sherlock a freak because he is refusing to let his brother be happy, Spooks inspired jargon, They really care for each other in my mind, and then his annoying brother was there too, because no one else really knows about her relationship with Mycroft, he was there to see his girlfriend, more important things to do, so he uses every opportunity to shame her somehow, they just don't have time to deal with normal relationship formation drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:03:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silberias/pseuds/Not%20So
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is a lonely man, so when he meets a lonely woman he can only draw one conclusion: they should give a relationship a try. What's the worst that could happen, especially when the woman doesn't treat him like a freak for the simple fact of his profession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Plod and the Spook

**Author's Note:**

> Sally needs more posific about her. So here's some Salcroft softsmut.

He met her on a special liaise with New Scotland Yard. His operative had been in a meeting, and Mycroft had been playing at being no one in the hallway. Most people walked by him, content to believe his lie of body language and word that he was exactly who he said he was—no one. Perhaps, he later reflected, he had some unknown chink in his armor that only she’d been able to see. No matter what the answer, though, Sally Donovan had appeared at his elbow and handed him a coffee. It was just touched with cream, and there was no sugar.

“Dunwaith is an idiot, you lot aren’t going to get very far with him. Y’need to talk with a man named Greg Lestrade if you want your operation to go as planned.”

Mycroft hadn’t given any outward indication that he’d even heard her speak or that she was standing right next to him, even as he lifted the coffee cup to his lips and took a long sip. The woman next to him huffed out a laugh and somehow produced a pen.

“Look, I’ll sign it—you spooks always have a copy of it on hand. And then I can tell you all about the fact that you’re barking up the wrong tree with Dunwaith and you’ll be in a position to ask me why.” That got Mycroft to actually speak to her, which is what she’d wanted.

“You have to abide by it if you sign it, so don’t be flippant.”

She twiddled the pen under his nose.

“I’m not being flippant. You seem an alright sort of spook, so I’m trying to help.”

He’d found out her name was Sally Donovan later on when he was having her signature analyzed—part of a paranoid background check on her. She had been too canny for his tastes, but so far nothing amiss had turned up about her and he’d asked his people to be _quite_ thorough. She was as by the book as few came, and that was something surprising and warming to someone like Mycroft Holmes. Despite his profession demanding that his tradecraft be constantly impeccably sideways, he was by the book such as the book was written.

The next time he met her was at another little liaise—trying to be friendly to the plods, Anthea had derisively put it as she checked her makeup in the car before they got out. Mycroft had twitched a smile at her as she shut the door and the driver took the car around the back. Except for particularly clandestine meetings, he never arrived through the same door as his operative. And old trick of his uncle Smiley.

She was just coming out of the loo, every stitch of clothing in perfect order as she stepped out into the hallway in heels that went on forever. Mycroft took her in with a single glance and decided to savor it later when she wasn’t right in front of him.

“Oh fancy seeing you here—Greg was complaining.” Sally Donovan was unapologetic as she looked him up and down for a long several seconds. Her eyebrows lifted and her mouth quirked just a little as she bit her lip for a blip of a moment. _But I’m not_. _Complaining, that is,_ is what that look said.

“He ought to divorce his wife while neither of them have cheated on the other,” Mycroft said as he matched her strides towards the main offices of Lestrade’s team.

“Oh and how do you figure that?”

“His wife will cheat because he spends too much time at work and she’s jealous of it. He’s too good to be petty in return, but he isn’t too good to comfort himself somehow. Especially,” he sighed, “when certain women in my employ make it only too easy. My assistant was remarkably crushed when following up on the inspector’s references and personal life.”

“Well then you know that he’ll try to make things work for as long as possible.” Mycroft hummed in acknowledgement. Sally strode along next to him in silence for a dozen more paces before gently reaching out and putting her arm through his. Mycroft willingly bent his limbs to look like he was part of the plan, but still asked:

“Is this my cover—your new boyfriend that you just _have_ to introduce to all your coworkers?”

Sally laughed at his words and his amused tone and her laughter was rich and beautiful. Her smile went on for miles just like her legs, and he caught a whiff of her shampoo from her hair. Her hands were warm and strong on his arm.

“It’s only cover if you’re a dolt about it. Drinks at the Brambles tomorrow night, I’m buying. You’d best show up, Mr. Spook. Isn’t good manners to stand a girl up on such short notice.”

“Mycroft.”

“Mycroft the Spook.”

He gently smiled at the title, the epithet for once something to have affection for rather than flinched away from as a curse. People at the Met didn’t like the cloaks and daggers that the 5 and the 6 used, and they regularly made it known when they scented out someone ‘spooky.’ From Sally Donovan, though, Mycroft felt it was an endearment.

“And you’re Sally the Plod.”

“Do you think the boys will call me Mrs. Spook? Or should I hyphenate and go by Ms. Plod-Spook?” she mused as heads turned to take in the striking couple they made as they walked into the homicide division’s main offices. Mycroft squeezed her arm, acknowledging what she already knew. He was even speaking to her on these terms because her background checks had gone through just fine, and wasn’t it time for the two of them to have a little bit of happiness? She already knew so much about him just for the fact that she treated his ‘spookiness’ as something normal and regular—because that’s what it was in Mycroft’s life at least. He was a spy, so he already knew everything about her as well.

“I’d like it if they’d call you Mrs. Holmes. Although perhaps Sergeant would be more appropriate, given the work environment.”

He got another brilliant smile at that.

“Well then, there we have it.”

He let Sally introduce him all around, allowing her to make up his civilian cover story as she wanted—everyone here knew what he was, but they needed something to ‘know’ about him and he certainly couldn’t tell all of them what he did. The fewer people who knew a secret, the safer it was. He was apparently on the board of a bank— _and_ , she’d said with a laugh, _doesn’t really matter which one, all the same, bankers are. Which bank is it again, though, Mike, dear?_ **Duncan Lawrie, Sal** _—Oh, yes, that one. Hush hush he is with it_ —and had several dogs.

Afterwards, after she saw him out to his car—as she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek—he murmured, “You made up the dogs because you want some.” She slid her arms down his back and leaned her hips against his as she kissed his lips for a second longer than she had his cheek. “They’re better than kids and you know it.” He allowed a wry grin at the truth of her words.

“So, nine at the Brambles?” he said, not moving to put his arms around her despite quite enjoying how she’d helped herself to his personal space. He didn’t have time for people who were intimidated by him, he really didn’t. Not in his line of work.

“If nine is when you’ll be there, then nine it is,” she said, stepping away from him and walking back up the stairs into the Met. She caught Mycroft admiring the play in the muscles in her calves when she turned around and shrugged expansively as her hands settled on her hips. Mycroft was glad for this slight show of disbelief—a bit of reality, to counter how unnerving and pleasant that she was so canny to his ways.

“Is your name really—“ she stopped short, looking for words that weren’t accusatory.

“As truly as yours is Sally Donovan.” That satisfied her and she winked at him as she turned away and went inside the building. Mycroft shook himself and got in the car. Anna was on him in an instant. Mycroft wondered if she’d bugged his suit once again. It was her habit, since she often had to stand several dozen feet away from him and his conversations.

“So if you can have your sergeant can I have the inspector?”

“Only if having him doesn’t hurt him. You only want him because he’s normal and happy to an extent.” Mycroft said, flicking an invisible bit of dust off his knee. Anna scoffed and played with her hair in her reflection in the window. She was always a little fidgety before changing an alias—a new one every week, like clockwork. She’d long ago figured out how long it took Materials to come up with a well put-together life and kept them on their toes.

Mycroft knew her name was floating around somewhere in her file, but he respected her wishes to live each life fully down to the name. Hopefully the too-nice Inspector at the Met would too. He’d be a bit confused, but he would probably roll with it. As long as his divorce went along at the planned rate of about a year—highly unstable relationship, age difference, lack of empathy towards personal professions—Mycroft’s agent and his new favorite DI at the Met would have a lovely late-life partnership.

For a month they met twice a week at the Brambles and chatted—getting to know one another and eventually sitting no longer across from each other but huddled together in a booth. Mycroft was startled and pleased that Sally was comfortable with being forward. The woman knew what she wanted from him—or any other man but she had picked him out of all of them and that thrilled him—and was interested in learning what he might want from her. One night she’d worn a flowing skirt that just barely reached her knees, and as they’d been sitting next to one another he’d put a hand on her exposed knee and felt the smooth skin there.

Sally had patted his hand absently as she looked over the menu and ordered—but as soon as the waiter’s back was turned she had flicked the fabric farther up her thigh and nudged his hand a little higher. His fingers had burned with the heat of her inner thighs and left him unimaginably turned on for the rest of their date. She’d followed him to his car, though, and climbed in after him. A quick gesture had the driver rolling up the divider as Sally undid his fly and freed his penis.

“I knew you were beautiful under all this. Don’t worry, you’ll figure out how to pay me back. Don’t touch my hair or you’ll be sorry.” And then her lips and tongue had descended on him and Mycroft had fisted his hands just under his hips and tried to decide what he would do for her in return. It was difficult, watching her curly black hair bounce along with her movements. It was embarrassing to hear himself gasping and grunting, the smacking of her lips against his skin—but the wet heat of her mouth and the skill of her tongue eased his mortification.

“I—ugh—Sallly—I—am going to—mmm—make you scream. Onnn—ugh—yes, just—just—ye—on your knees. They’ll be rough—Jesus, woman—again— _ugghh_ —from my carpet. Agh! Agh—Jesus—Sall—Sally— _Sally!_ ” her nose pressed right up to his skin as she opened her jaw and swallowed him whole it seemed as he ejaculated so hard he saw stars behind his clenched eyelids. He was barely coming back to earth when she let him slip out of her mouth, and he watched through hazy eyes as she wiped her face clean. Her smile, crisp and white, was lazy like a cat’s as she bent forward again to gently kiss his limp penis—so sensitive it hurt but he couldn’t find words to tell her to stop.

“S’that your thing, Mycroft? A woman on her knees for you?”

“Only with a woman who volunteers so…spectacularly.” With that he hauled her up to straddle his waist and reached under her flowing skirt and felt the wetness of her panties. Leaning in for a quick kiss, he slid his fingers down the front of them and started to circle her clitoris—using her natural lubrication to speed the movement as well as a subtle rocking of his own hips. It was Sally’s turn to gasp, seeming to suck the air from his mouth as she tore her lips from his to sneak a breath.

“Can you smell us, Sally?”

He got a nod and a breathy gasp as he reached a little lower to briefly hook his fingertips into her vagina, scratching his nails along the length of her before again circling her clit.

“My sweat—and the taste of my cum on both our tongues now. And now the smell of your musk, and you can hear how slick you are for me. Listen,” and he hooked his fingertips once more but surged his hips up at the same moment so that there was a sucking pop as he did so. Sally’s lips were smearing lipstick on his cheek and her breaths were hot and wet in his ear—and overlying all of the sounds her body made as he fingerfucked her was a high keening sound she made as he pleasured her.

Her hips were starting to rock into his deeply and Mycroft relished the first low grunt he got when his lips found a tendon on Sally’s neck and his teeth bit down lightly there.

“Do it, Sally. Come undone for me—right here…now,” he said, doing more this time than hooking his fingers briefly into her. This time he plunged his middle and ring fingers as deeply as they’d go and curled them tightly inside her in his best come-hither as well as tugging his whole half-fist toward himself. Sally hadn’t been making nearly as much of a fuss as he’d been, but this got her to cry out in a high voice of a woman about to orgasm without a care in the world. “ _Now¸_ Sally,” he said, sweeping his thumb across her clit as the fingers he had deeply inside her didn’t loosen a bit on the tight curl they were in against her G-spot. And then she was clenching herself tightly around his digits, the grip of her vaginal walls like an undulating vice and her voice was loud and high in his ear as she cried out with each contraction.

The muscles of his forearm were hot with overuse but it was worth it as Sally gently sagged against him and fought to recover her breath—and her kisses on his lips were languid with contentment.

“Well, you certainly know what you’re doing, Mr. Spook,” she mumbled as he very gently took his fingers out of her. She snuggled closer to him without the obstruction of his hand and arm, while he wrapped his arms around her—one around her waist and the other across her back and shoulders, the fingers barely curling at the nape of her neck. Her breasts—high and tense from the neglect he’d visited on them, the nipples tightly raised through her clothing—gently brushed his chest with each breath they took.

“You’re not all that bad either, Ms. Plod.”

“Ms. Plod-Spook, thank you,” she said with a sleepy laugh. He chuckled along with her before urging her face up to his again and kissing her thoroughly. He snuck his other hand between their bodies and cupped one of her breasts as they once again started to roll their hips together. The rhythm was slow and even, the pace of two people with all the time in the world to screw each other senseless.

Sally parted their lips so she could breathe more easily, and Mycroft took that opportunity to nibble his way down her throat once more. His penis was starting to twitch and recover as Sally grabbed the hem of her blouse and took it off in a smooth movement to reveal her dark skinned torso. His hands looked like albino spiders on her flesh as she said into his ear: “take me home Mycroft,” and then she sucked the lobe of his ear between her lips, a hint of a nibble at it before finally saying, “take me home, and make good on your pillow talk.”


End file.
